"gecko" poems
*what forests are those we pass,
blazing along the railway tracks,
a tree bloom of still cranes,
stream black of ******* bane,
stench of dead city rubble,
factories of rusted cast metal,
distant cotton twilight skies,
sun slide across a bunch of wires,
passing tunnels echo
lonely platforms, frantic gecko,
looming hillside,
crackle dry wood fire,
a god barred in lock&key,
blink glimpse of the sea
one rush of vision,
pebble fling at frisson,
metal-crunch rhythm,
grind music sublime,
spark, grunt, grate,
we arrive, we dissipate...*
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
We lie here - our bodies quiet in the late night heat
Off in the distance a dog barks as it’s master stirs and
in the fields the crickets give their last gasps of the day
A party lightens up a far away terrace as the wine flows and a secret flirt takes place as a gecko flits across a stucco wall, stops and moves again
And in this still heat our bodies merge - become one and we grow together
The far off waves of a Mediterranean Sea lap the silken sand
As we become one once more
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 12:03 PM UTC
Sunday:
Ant Pills
Bear Traps
Cobra Feet
Monday:
Dolphin Lungs
Eel Soup
Frog Limbs
Tuesday:
Gecko Suits
Horse Pie
Inchworm ***
Wednesday:
Jaguar Barbed
Koala Beer
Lynx Lynch
Thursday:
Monkey Chips
Narwhal Fashions
Otter Drugs
Friday:
Porcupine Rehab
Quail Map
Roadrunner Piano
Saturday:
Slug Party
Turkey Slop
Urchin See
Sunday:
Vulture Guns
Walrus Tongues
X No
Monday:
Yellowjacket Fever
Zebra Clowns
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:08 PM UTC
In a sunny spot resides a new bench.
It would be a perfect place to sit among the flowers
with children sitting at your feet
teaching them all that you know
about animals
about the great outdoors
from a time when they were experienced in person
not on the Discovery Channel
not on TV
You could read a book to them there too
like Wild Animals I Have Known
by Ernest Thompson Seaton
the naturalist.
You could sit quietly in the sunshine
and nurse an unfortunate animal back to health
like a Gecko
or turtle
or opossum
You could just sit
your Dunkin Doughnuts iced coffee in your hand
and take it all in
or let it all out
your choice.
But you never will do any of these things
on this bench in the sunny spot
among the plants
and flowers
and smooth river rocks painted in your honor
by the children to whom you are missed
because the bench is dedicated
with your name on it
in memory of you.
Jun 21, 2013
Jun 21, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
“but if you have to move your best friend’s body…
…you’re on your own.”
Your best friend dies
Before your eyes
Somehow stays alive
Then what?
***** salt-licked hair
Brittle and frayed by medicine
World’s unfathomable weight
Trembling beneath the Wisdom Tree
Her whole being crumples (arrugar)
But her life-force remains intact
Body bone
Running on spirit reserves
Why is that?
She stands and cries
Staring into ether
I sit
Wringing my hands
Her tears strike the ground
In tree-gecko unison
'''
Pacific parasite super-strains
Blood coated throat
The full range of abuse’s color on all fronts
for decades
Attempted assaults, ****
Dengue
Giant Centipede venom to the skull
But worst of all
Rootlessness and fear
the monkey on her back
had a monkey on its back
and was smoking a cigarette
'''
Have you ever seen someone
Completely broken?
Corpsic shell of a woman
Gaunt, wan in the tropics
“Don’t put your trust in walls…
…walls will only crush you when they fall”
Brick-bludgeoned body
The shrapnel lay like
Sun scorched
Novice-woven baskets
At her feet
But now she can see
And breath
Real breath
'''
Genocide’s a ***** yes.
Africans seem fatalistic to Americans
Baby boy body, Grandpa human- shield
“They’re your babies”
Short-lived, yes
But now they have peace
Witnesses still weave the jungle
What do you do with a friend who’s
Seen real atrocity? Evil?
'''
I’m learning.
Prayer is power
Will transcends the concrete (Bunkle, too.)
She serves realness only
Her seeking hands unweave the sacred
Time is of no luxury right now
Serve people through love
and Grace awaits discovery
'''
I’ve never carried a bleeding body.
I needn’t “fear the terror by night,
Nor the arrow by day”
But I saw someone perish
And resurrect
What a gift
What a gift
Gubaadagem, Tinmad.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
(not much of a poem)
Thrice awake, asleep, again awake
Something always wakes me up
The phone sounded, nobody answered
Procession and vigil ended
Late fireworks echoed through this Black Saturday night..
I'm deciding: to cease, or not to cease
I can't find my desired peace
To find lost journals, or just burn what's left, old and new
To start or not to start, a life anew
To rise, or just lie through this hot evening
My late mother said then: Black Saturdays are days...rarely ending
Black Saturdays are for resurrecting...celebrating...
This late night, it is segue-ing, to an Easter morning
While dogs are barking, while gecko is calling
Cats are quiet, where are they stashed? where could they be hiding?
Here...now... I am a car, my motor is hushed...but i am still running...
Sally
Copyright April 4, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 6:28 AM UTC
A hug is so rare
The kind that can make you smile
And make you feel safe.
When I open up my thoughts and confide in you,
I'm not looking for a solution,
Or for anyone to fix me
I'm looking for a hug.
Because like you said
You're not my psychiatrist
Not my husband
You're just a boy.
And boys will come and go
None of them can fix me
I have to fix me
But all I wanted was a hug
Wanted to feel safe
Wanted to know you cared
But if you can't do that
Than I guess this is where we must part
And I will miss you.
I will miss dancing in your basement
Playing with your gecko
Listening to your thoughts
And what you have to say
Sometimes you don't make sense
But that's okay because it makes sense to you
And if you need someone to listen
I'll be here
And if you ever need a hug
I guess I'll show you the compassion
That you couldn't show me
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
the world is a wild and weary place,
fully sunk in spiral ******
fully strummed in skin water waves.
bound by death from the very first verse:
first love.
first this.
go forth my machines, be fruitful and jettison.
color says hang at the edge of our lips.
smell the books.
remind us; books.
& before the big blue vast takes it all, that
sunstruck lomographia light,
transposed no-makeup california girl, she
walks before me along the boulders of the wharf.
real summer breathing.
our bodies, piled
and starbleached ripe. [like heap of buffalo skulls]
maybe then a futuristic dinner, where everyone gathers in floating space pods
singing hymns beneath,
above,
between
the lights and music.
reality is: blacktop shards against my knees,
something burning as it trickles to my chin, man of me
living the city glisten, city green
& pink.
city midnight and barely breathing.
destroyers, we are.
and what? what am i, father? man of industry?
man of workwelded science? secure as the armadillo,
armadillo picket fence.
am i of halfbreed phosphorus?
americana?
built on love and hate and television.
nat geo channel: [a gecko licks dew from its eyes
on the coastal sand dunes of namibia]
money. women. go west young man.
be a hand tightening ribs.
be a quaking echo of mammalian design.
a paradigm of seed my fire.
quest for fire.
for uncut diamond; like foggy strawberry rock in the africa-boy's fingers.
or cut steel; phallus of toyish death between a brazil-boy’s fingers.
pulled teeth; bits of wet fruit in the young afghani’s hand.
& icecream trolley; pedestal etched iron; denim and *** and
microwaves ::::::
white man: what I got ? what I got ?
manifest destiny: gold bricks and beer.
blood soaked socks.
cyprus burnt umbers.
tribes decomposing at the bottoms of styrofoam cups.
like coin-op wormies.
& eighteen inch circumference blades make round rolling high pitched songs deep in the skin of old mother earth.
old baby cakes.
old life in slow motion, all motion, all
of particle cannon treatise.
40 ounce bounce.
watery us
below.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
distant hills
drifting
in a sea of grass
waves
slip from stone
grasping nothing
winter evening -
crows glide in and gather
on the roof tops
diesel grit
blackens the fog -
a passing train
sipping dew -
a moth flutters down
the dripping eave
Molokai:
waking up -
a bird calls
- a gecko responds
no wind, no waves -
an empty boat is swamped
by the sunset
(after Dogen)
Tom Spencer © 2018
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 7:38 AM UTC
She's strong and wise and sticky fingered
She's squishy and smart and colourful and fun
She's small and quick and shiny
And she's gonna find herself in
Being free
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
It is the same garden that holds,
Prickly rose bushes,
Healing basil and spritely marigolds.
It is here the bees fly, birds rest their wings,
It is here every morning the nightingale sings.
It is here the hare scampers, the squirrel scurries,
The snake slithers, the rodent hurries.
It is here the gecko hides, the worm crawls,
The bat flies when darkness falls.
In the mud and the dirt, the soil and the gravel,
In coarse little stones, smooth little pebbles,
In topaz skies, in waters azure,
In a lotus that blossoms in a world impure.
In the siesta of flowers, the fiesta of leaves,
In the dance of raindrops serenaded by a breeze.
In summer's golden glare, autumns russet finger
In the green breath of spring, the white hand of winter..
Beauty in His creations, in every season,
In every color for a rainbow of reasons.
Each special and each rare,
Each, in a bough or burrow,
Has a niche somewhere.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
.
I looked
Thru the glass at a trembling lil thing
Beady eyes of a worried gerbil
In a worrisome place
The Petco by my house had
Everything you could have
-almost
Rhino's, Daffodil's
Lynx's, Gecko's & even
Alaskan Klee Kai's
Wrapped up in Saran wrap
Or in little glass cages
With little bobbly water dispensers
And kindly placed dishes
Holding nifty pellets of tasty food
That fits their Specialized Diet Plan
They don't have elephants yet
We'll have to ask the manager to order
some of those
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
DEAR MOM I AM HOMOPHOBIC
Dear mother
My guardian angel and protector
Am afraid to tell you
He was staring at me
When i went to the loo
His cold gaze pierced my back
And his unblinking eyes sent jitters down my spine
A creeping feeling enwrapped my whole being
When i turned his charming stare held me prisoner and he smiled at me
Mother i could feel his look perusing me like an art book
From head to toe i was studied
I felt naked as his hungry stare undressed me
To him i was a piece of an apple pie
I could make out gurgling sounds as he swallowed dry saliva and licked his death black lips
Lust was painted all over his mane covered face
Mom i was really scared
I regretted stepping in that club
When i returned to my seat he bought me beer
My liqour thirst was hard to bear
I betrayed my masculinity
And accepted drink from a **** sapien of male fraternity
My mind was having a cold war with my soul
Wierd thoughts tormented my intoxicated body
Where did i stand???
He welcomed himself in my table
With a gecko like grin etched on his face
"You are handsome"those were the ugliest words i had ever heard from a man
My owl like eyes bore onto him with blazing anger dancing on my eyelids
I was shaking not because i was cold but murdering instincts were elecrocuting my adrenaline
He mistook my silence and commited a cardinal sin by placing his manicured hand on my thighs
He winked as his blinking broke the speed record
I cleared my throat and i knew it was time to recorn
He thought his tactics had worked
I withdrew my hand from my pocket raised beer bottle as if to toast
He hastefully followed suit
"Chee....he never finished as i bathed him with my beer
"Hey ****** am straight"i yelped as i crushed the beer bottle on his thick skull
I heard a deafening yell
The rest i remember is being frog matched into a police car
So dear mom its not my fault am in jail
Am here because i fought
Mom am not a law breaker
Am here because i am homophobic
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 4:24 AM UTC
Driving off onto the 101 rush hour concrete jungle, there are no exits,
only obligations to stay stuck in my mobile cubicle moving at the speed of slow.
Hidden flowers on the hillside bloom away mocking my insanity,
they cheer me on to see beyond these gray prison bevels.
Gray blocks hollow until they're filled with my humanity,
making me take the choices reaped with devils.
I feel like I've lived a day in one hour, it's so early it could be midnight.
Twisting and turning in my brain, the sun suddenly ridicules, feeding me a fresh case of insane.
I'm at a point of sorrow, sorrow of an exceptional quality, Grade A-farm raised, take two tomorrow.
The raven croaked nevermore, Juliet is the sun, dangren-burang1.
We have to go. I'm almost happy here2. Complacency rots insides, then refills with fear.
So - Listen to them - children of the night. What music they make3. Clamoring for sight.
There's no flesh or blood within this cloak to **** There's only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof4. Filled with truths, synapse salvoes, loves, and drugs. We love what we eat and eat who we are. GERManic germs looking for psychological thrills. You work the guns, I'll rattle the hills.
Smoking cannabis to an over-extent, hope lost, old kung-fu and 80's movies won, I eat smoke for breakfast.
This sun is still mocking me, “Start your day, be productive, make a baby, then expiry.”
Stepping into society, I'm a satanic leaf-tailed gecko wanting freedom, abdicate, and let go your kingdom.
Halfheartedly half washed dishes in my sink; this entropy roller-coaster of highs and lows drives me to drink and think, then drink and smoke, making life one strange syrupy green swirl of mammarys and calamities filled with brevity’s of rarities.
5,000 images, 2 comedies, and a numb right arm later I've turned into dark matter, invisibly pulling all that matters together into a forever stretched infinitely, literally making synergies out of life-energies.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
A sneaky rat and a little gecko
Both lived in a family house
The little gecko always greeted the family
The sneaky rat always stole their food
The family loved the little gecko
Because it was cute and kind
The family hated the sneaky rat
Because it kept creating a mess
They set a trap for the rat
Hoping that they could get rid of it
But the sneaky rat was clever
And told the gecko to get the food from the trap
The little, innocent gecko stepped on the trap
And the sneaky rat ran away
Even the family couldn't help the little gecko
Now it is trapped there forever.
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 8:33 AM UTC
When I was a black clad killing machine
no change there then
they called me the mist master
with the feet of a gecko
I used to climb walls by thinking
funny enough I climb walls still
but now it is just stress and dying
on the ceiling with feet of a gecko
Don't turn the light on
it is bad for a reptilians eyes
whist I hang from the ceiling
catching moths and flies
Ok if I can stay really still
waiting for that juicy ****
yes I am a lizard hero
with feet of a gecko
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
Controlled subdermal cage
we all have our own fields of fire
the world changes elements of boron
to day again ah the furious wet traffic
to my suit looking good but tired
white silk mammal lips
punk yards of spirits in magma
grace flies scream in antlers of highway
in through the iris out through the heart
nascent ghosts in time for life
Clocks grow pupae in my arms
under the frock and over the frame
disgrace the leaves at joy in autumn says the wind
poppies remain drooling in seas of light
the way men move through gas
champagne pours the cricket the gecko the feather the drake
the touch the brim the uncured wild
the street creates a world of song the koalas boom with fur
the mantelpiece wounds the air
the figments of life known as love live outside
until we grow kingdoms within.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 1:01 AM UTC
there you were.
fully clothed, but never covered.
over the edge and under the sky.
you ruled as if you'll never die.
you stick yourself unto the wall.
and you never knew when to fall
we saw you facing the golden sky.
on cloaks of murky waters you always lie.
with your tail gone asunder
far awaiting death and its mighty wonders.
siblings stare and the spectators share.
how lovely it defeated you.
how less of them actually care.
and no one knew, cause they had no clue
it was only left for the eyes of the blind.
and the stare of an eagle.
From a distance which only it sees
and only, so little was known,
for the shiny scales, and this forbidden tale!
for however we perceive it.
we never know how endless the cycle is.
for however we ended the story.
there always began another
for however suicide be punished.
there was always that.
there was always the "gecko"
Aug 7, 2011
Aug 7, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
On a night like any other,
I went outside to have a smoke
I saw a gecko on a tree
and to my surprise, it spoke!
Tsk, tsk, tsk
the lizard said
Its haunting disapproval
followed me to bed
The next evening, I came back
to see what its problem was
I asked, "You disagree with cigarettes?
I'll quit the habit, if I must!"
Tsk, tsk, tsk
the lizard said
I can't be certain, but I'd bet
it was shaking its little head
The following night, I returned
to again face cold-blooded judgment
I lamented, "Why do you torment me so,
without reason, with no argument?"
Tsk, tsk, tsk
the lizard went
By that time, my patience
was utterly spent
On our last meeting, I carried with me
a pair of scissors and ****** on my mind
As I approached the gecko with sharp intent,
suddenly the tail detached from its behind!
Tsk, tsk, tsk
the lizard mocked me as it left
Moonlight creatures claim another victim
Of my dignity, I am bereft
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
a gecko in an aquarium
was my roommate...
not at all my idea of a pet,
but we shared a room, she and i...
i would warm her with soft light
at night time,
let her sleep with lights out
during the day...
fed her with worms,
young insects, water to drink...
nobody knew or noticed
what ever happened,
never seen what may have conspired
inside that lonely aquarium
where she'll be forever confined
'til the day she dies.
one sleepless night, while writing
'neath the soft glow of the lamp,
a tiny winged creature
slowly crawls, then stops
beside my left foot
resting down on the floor.
nothing to swat it with,
i shove it off my foot with one hand.
it would appear one time,
i would drive it away...
it would hide somewhere,
only to appear again later.
the movements flow,
this would go on,
until finally, i would fall asleep.
same things would happen
In the nights that would follow,
until i sort of await its presence...
it would keep still,
right at the center of the carpet,
wait for that shove or push,
so we could start our dance,
'til we both get tired...
when it would vanish,
and i, would soon
be left dreaming,
...in deep, deep slumber...
(Thank you, Soul in torment, for your "wing-ed friend...")
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
My skin feels like scales
A piano bench
Metronome passing the time
Impatiently
Perfectly
Living like death
Spreading along Petri dishes
And moving forward in octaves
Like a starving gecko
Eating its own tail
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 12:29 AM UTC
The sun now disappears over the horizon,
the dew quivers fresh on the leaves.
The air stifling in this deprived heat,
The crickets chatter about the toils of the day.
I sit here, as I did in the early morning
with the sun.
As I have done everyday, inside my glass cellar.
Now the gecko glares, daring me to
break the mirror.
He doesn't stay long, knowing too well how
soft and timid society is -- in
the weathered face of Mother Nature.
The crickets taunt me, their cat calls
pointing out how desolate modern society
has become.
Or inevitably, always has been.
My yearning for the heat of the summer air is peculiar.
Why trade the comforts of this life
for the untamed?
Envious am I.
Jul 10, 2011
Jul 10, 2011 at 5:11 PM UTC
that hidden feeling that brings you an ounce o' joy
may lie in a hot cup of cocoa;
or when you least expect it to greet you ahoy
that'll shower sunshine over the lost gecko!!
building castles with just one hand;
by the black-lit stream underground;
I've fallen for your spell,
wondering if the lazy sun opened up;
on the new ordinary; singing in a puzzle
if I've fallen for you spell
can I bribe you a picture for your wall?
or should I stumble into a roman warrior?
do i have to make an effort at all?
for a splendid sunlight to glow over this ******
i was told i was the one with a magic wand
building overnight castles on the desert land,
but think i've fallen for your spell,
wonder if your game has a name;
oh sweet scented clove, oh my green eyed love,
i've fallen for your spell...
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 5:26 AM UTC
It was the eve of a black obsidian night
full purple moon and stars shone bright
the howl of one lone wolf filled frigid air
damp cold mist needed down outerwear.
The screaming banchee's breath vapor
was noxious green befitting the caper
of scaring all children by his loud noise
of trick or treating little girls and boys.
A massive link ink wrought iron fence
surrounds eerie mansion in suspense
Frankinstein pushes thru spider webs
while a monster exercises quadriceps.
A ghost wanders in Cemetery's grave
and a pumpkin avoided an autoclave
the doors began to creak very loudly
a Raven and Owl sang quite proudly
Slick sleek ebony crows sit atop a roof
while another swoops, soars like a goof
do listen, you can hear their shrill echo
tombstone-songs by mummy's gecko
© Carmela M. Patterson
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
She is a butterfly...
hiding under sunspots.
He’s a gecko,
lurking in that velvet corner where the light forgets to go.
She is chaos—
he’s the eye of her storm.
They were born from deep sea vents,
rose up to the skies like they meant to crack open clouds,
pull humans into a frenzy
no weather pattern could predict.
She calls it life.
He? He just stares into death,
like it’s a familiar hallway with flickering lights.
The question of origin?
It’s always that stupid finger—
pointing,
blaming,
laughing at the moment they both thought:
"Wait… was any of it even real?"
Hey, ****
It’s all tiny signals,
she read.
"It’s all eternity,"
he preached,
like a god with a broken clock.
They walked through each other’s ghost stories,
talked all night in a language made of
fake memories,
false starts,
and déjà vus shaped like abandoned houses.
They locked eyes—
those traitorous, trembling eyes—
and whispered vows
to nights that haven’t happened yet.
To days that only those **** aliens have seen.
Yeah. Those aliens.
The ones living on the edge
of the universe’s bubble,
eating popcorn,
watching this bubble bursting program
on cosmic cable.
And when the light consumed the darkness,
when the tiny capsules cracked open like old seeds—
they were left raw.
Naked.
Shivering in the gift-wrapped curse
called "Time."
She ran away.
He walked away.
Moments…
split.
Time…
parted.
While million-dollar math problems
sit unsolved on cluttered desks,
watched over by smoke-drenched visionaries
who know something’s wrong
but can’t solve heartbreak
with equations.
This is the program.
It’s always been the program.
We’re just signals,
wrapped in skin,
playing roles,
in a show
with no rehearsal
and no pause button.
So if you’re watching,
dear alien—
just know…
We improvised the whole **** thing.
May 8, 2025
May 8, 2025 at 4:24 AM UTC